


For Sylvain, forever ago

by the_gabih



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Star Trek Fusion, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mind Meld, Pon Farr, Reincarnation, Vulcan!Felix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 05:06:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28558077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_gabih/pseuds/the_gabih
Summary: Felix has a problem. Sylvain has a solution- along with an extra lifetime or so of memories.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 4
Kudos: 48





	For Sylvain, forever ago

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fearlesswindy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fearlesswindy/gifts).



It starts as a prickle under his skin, which Felix ignores in favour of watching the open space ahead of him, calculating the right moment to run. By the time he has- narrowly- escaped the clutches of the creature chasing him, it is easy enough to chalk it up to increased blood flow from his escape. Or perhaps irritation at the smirk on Lieutenant Gautier’s face after his shot is the one to bring the creature down.

“Looking good,” he tells Felix, his eyes raking over the places where the planet’s native plant life had eaten into the fabric of his uniform. Felix does not dignify that with a response. When he taps his badge, he does so with a fraction more force than usual; a typical reaction to being in Gautier’s presence.

“Fraldarius to Leonid. Two to beam up.”

-

The thing is, Felix has never felt entirely comfortable around either of his ancestral species. Vulcans tend to regard him as overly emotional, often questioning the logic of his mother’s decision to marry the human ambassador. He has even heard parents using his and Commander Spock’s stories as a warning to their children to steer clear of such paths as might bring them into contact with humans, lest they too engage in such irrational choices as mating with one.

And then there are the humans. Having been raised on Vulcan, taught their ways of communication, trying to interact with them is a little like steering an above auxiliary sized vessel through an asteroid field with only a viewscreen to navigate by; there will always be damage, occasionally the explosive kind. 

Felix has spent years teaching himself how to navigate the minefield in a way that appears that he is trying not to offend, for the sake of his continued service to Starfleet. It is on his current posting that he has had the most success to date, although Captain Blaiddyd continues to try and prod at emotions which Felix is too much of a Vulcan to allow him in proximity to.

And then there is the Communications Officer. Felix knows his history is solid- he has seen the records for himself. Lieutenant Gautier has a knack for finding common ground between sides, for being as verbally slippery as he can be without giving away his core principles.

He is everything that Felix is not, so why he has latched onto Felix is unfathomable. It is, surprisingly, not unwelcome. The broad smiles, the rare shoulder nudges (as though Gautier is restraining his lifelong urge to hug everyone he meets for Felix’s sake), even the way he had come to sit with Felix the night Vulcan Prime had been destroyed; all of it feels strangely familiar, as though they have shared such space and greetings and difficulties before.

Which must be why, when the fever begins to take hold, Felix’s mind focuses on Gautier- on Sylvain. All his wants come crashing to the fore now, everything his unconscious mind has been forced to hold back, and with it comes a strange series of sense memories. Sylvain’s hands, large and callused in a way Felix knows they are not, roaming over his skin. Sylvain, legs spread, begging to be filled and mated and bred. Years of strict meditation and training have not, could not prepare Felix for the waves of heat and want that leave him gasping on the floor of his quarters.

He should request leave to New Vulcan. The Captain will understand- will be frustratingly, emotionally understanding about the whole thing, adding far more sentiment to the mix than is necessary, as he is wont to do. Felix is almost certain his allotted partner had died with his family on Vulcan Prime, but the Council will surely have made arrangements. The continuation of their race is, must be, the highest priority, as much as the thought of doing so with a stranger turns Felix’s stomach.

And yet. He wants, like a mewling helpless creature. Like a human in the throes of their heat. He finds himself suddenly pitying them; at least he only has to undergo this once every seven years.

He locks himself in his room to avoid complications. Requests leave, but does not say why, and does not book a destination. He still has time. And besides, he is not wholly Vulcan. Perhaps, if he simply ignores the urge to mate, he will be able to escape this without losing anything essential. His life, his sanity, or Sylvain, who will surely not want him if he knows that this pathetic, rutting thing lies behind his usual exterior.

Around day four of pon’farr, his door chimes. This in itself is not unusual, except that it happens twice. So far his guests have been either Lt Dominic or Lt Cdr von Martritz bringing him food, and they have always left it at the door after a single bell to let him know it is there.

Two bells, though? That makes Felix look up. The room is swimming around him, and his hands have a white-knuckle grip on his knees. It is exponentially worse today than it was on the days prior, and he worries that if he moves, the slender thread he is using to reel in his mind and body may just snap. 

“Felix?” The voice over the intercom is Sylvain’s, and something inside Felix stirs to ugly life at the sound of it. His. His mate, to take and- “Hey. I know Mercie said you weren’t taking visitors right now, but I just thought I’d come say hi. Also, that we’re, like, a couple hours out from New Vulcan? So you might wanna get ready for the transporter.”

Felix barely bites back a growl. The words resound like so much nonsense, though some remnant of his lucid, rational self is filled with dread at the idea that the others have pieced it together. How would they have worked it out? Unless Commander Spock has already undergone the same thing, of course, but even then-

There is a red haze settling over his vision. He knows what he needs. He has known it for days now. And it is right there.

“But uh. That whole arranged matching thing? Honestly, I dunno. Sounds kinda shitty. So I just wanted to say, if you wanna do something else, I’m here.” Sylvain is babbling. Sylvain often babbles, when he is nervous. He is likely rubbing a hand through the back of his hair as he speaks. “Like, I know you’re probably not into the marriage idea, but we could do that maybe? A fake one. I know you hate my operas and stuff, but trust me, the fake dating stuff is always fun. Or- or, y’know. If it’s just a sex thing. You’re probably not into that either, but what’s the use of being the ship’s resident slut if I can’t help a buddy out when he needs it, right?”

Felix is standing. When did he stand? He should not move any further. He absolutely should not open the door, and yet his feet are already whispering across the flooring. He needs… he needs-

“I mean, feel free to say no, too!” Sylvain adds, his voice tumbling out faster and faster now. “That’s, uh. An option. That you have. I’m not tryna force you into anything, I just- if you needed options, I’m-”

Felix presses the button to show Sylvain’s face on the intercom screen. He swallows, hard. He has not drunk water in some time. “If I let you in,” he says, before his instincts can get the better of him, “I may hurt you. I will not let you leave for several days. I will- we will be mated, in the eyes of Vulcan. Permanently.”

He watches as Sylvain’s irises swallow up his pupils. “Fuck, Fe,” he breathes, staring directly at the camera. “Please.”

And that’s it. The last piece of restraint holding Felix back falls away. He presses the button to open the door, and even before it does so fully, he already has a hand fisted in Sylvain’s uniform to drag him into the room. Sylvain yelps, startled, but the sound is lost to a whimper when Felix pushes him up against the wall by the door and buries his face in his neck. He smells so good in ways Felix has never before allowed himself to consider, like a hot day practicing Suus Mahna under the Vulcan skies, like a training yard and the steady, familiar weight of a sword.

Like home, years after Felix had turned his back on the places supposed to be that for him.

He pushes a leg up in between Sylvain’s just to hear him moan as Felix tugs his tunic up and over his head. It is a testament to how far gone they both are that it is allowed to simply puddle on the floor without complaint; Sylvain is too busy wrapping his arms around Felix in its absence to comment, despite his usual neatness. He’s commented in the past on how warm Felix keeps his room, but if he’s too hot now, he doesn’t mention that either, just a steady litany of “yeah” and “there you go” and “fuck, Felix,” as Felix yanks his pants down abruptly enough that they tear down the hem.

Before Sylvain can move, Felix is down on his knees, pressing his face to his mate’s cunt and licking a steady stroke from it up to his cock. Sylvain gives a startled moan in response, but Felix doesn’t know why he’s surprised. He has to ensure his mate is open and relaxed enough to be taken, after all. 

When he presses his face forward, a renewed arousal washes through him. He’s used to touch telepathy, the sudden jarring feeling when his skin brushes another’s, but this is different. Deeper. His hands on Sylvain’s thighs feel an echo of the wall beneath Sylvain’s own palms, and when he breathes Sylvain in he gets a faint overlay of how he looks from above, kneeling in front of his mate like this.

It is intoxicating. Sylvain is intoxicating, like the finest drug, the sweetest taste on his tongue. Felix laps at him eagerly, greedy for more, until Sylvain’s thighs are trembling and he can feel a heat prickling beneath his mate’s skin as if in answer to his own.

He pulls off, and an unexpected part of him enjoys the desperate whine from above. 

“Bed,” he growls. “Now.”

Sylvain’s eyes widen and he draws his lower lip into his mouth to bite on it. But he nods, and when Felix moves back, he takes a shaky step forward, and then another. Felix is upon him before he even reaches the mattress, shoving him forward and down. Sylvain goes with a yelp; Felix’s bed is not, perhaps, as soft as his own, but he has little time to think that through before he scrambles atop his mate and pins him on his back.

A shiver from Sylvain. As Felix watches, he tips his head back to bare his throat. Biting is abhorrent in Vulcan culture, animalistic even, but there must be more human in him than he had accounted for because he is drawn in instantly. When his teeth close on Sylvain’s skin, his mate bucks up against him with a loud, desperate moan and Felix growls and ruts down against him. He is painfully hard inside his regulation pants and shirt, and he tugs the former down quickly, the better to bury himself to the hilt inside Sylvain.

And that is- it is perfect, hot and tight and overwhelming. Felix shudders at the strange sensation of inhabiting two bodies. A full meld ought not to occur unless the proper procedure is followed, and yet he can feel Sylvain’s senses as keenly as his own when he thrusts in. He is both pressing down and rocking back, filling and being filled. Nothing has ever felt so perfect and he chases it eagerly.

He feels- as Sylvain does- the moment his cock begins to swell at the base, catching on Sylvain’s rim with every push and pull. He moves his- their- hips faster, harder, and feels Sylvain surge to meet him. Oh, his mate is so good, so perfect, so-

Felix cums hard, his cock pressed as deep inside as it can get as it spurts over and over again. Sylvain moans, or perhaps he does- it is hard to tell at this point, with their bodies and minds pressed so close to each other. It is like and entirely unlike the times when they had-

But this has never happened before. Has it? He remembers-

He remembers…

A childhood spent running through snow, betrothed to another but wanting, always wanting, despite himself. Sylvain’s bright grin like the sparkle of the morning sun on frost. Sylvain growing, throwing himself at anyone who gave him a moment’s interest; Felix growing, and throwing himself into anything that would take him out of his body by pushing it to its limits.

And then, coming together. Finding each other, again and again and again. Nights where he hardly knew where one ended and the other began. And always, always there was-

“Sylvain,” Felix gasps. He feels dizzy, almost as though the plak tow is upon him again, but there is no fever this time; just the gentle warmth of Sylvain’s skin against his own. Both of them are soaked in sweat and cum and slick enough that part of Felix wants nothing more than to drag Sylvain off to the shower, but they are here. He is here. Sylvain is lying underneath him, legs wrapped around Felix’s waist, his cunt tight around Felix and his eyes wide and bright and soft.

“Found you,” Sylvain murmurs.

“You did not find me,” Felix reminds him. “We were assigned to the same vessel by Starfleet.”

“Same difference. ‘Sides, this beats camping in some muddy field, right?”

Felix frowns. He remembers the moment Sylvain is prodding him for- the chill of the night air pressing in around the blankets, the frenzy of not knowing for certain that he would be able to protect his mate on the morrow, the need to mark him, claim him, protect him before anything could happen. “But none of this makes sense.”

He sounds plaintive, like an exhausted child mewling at an instructor during training. But Sylvain, ever human, ever flexible, takes it in his stride. “Yeah, well. Maybe it’s time you branched out a little. I hear metaphysics is making some pretty huge strides lately.”

“I am a scientist, not a philosopher.”

“You were a swordsman, before. Things change.” Sylvain reaches up to card a hand through Felix’s hair. It is a sensation he has never particularly enjoyed until now. “Anyway, I like you whatever you are.”

“I am glad to hear it,” Felix says, wryly, and finds that he is. “I do not intend to change overmuch, unless I have good cause to.”

“That’s what I like to hear. C’mere, you gorgeous, unchangeable man.”

Sylvain tugs him down then, and any retort Felix might have had is lost to the heat of his mouth.


End file.
